


Hail Mary, Full of Grace

by orphan_account



Series: Dinah/Helena One-Shots [2]
Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Church Sex, Confession, Confession Booth, F/F, Mentions of religion, Rosary Bondage, Sex, Smut, porn no plot, they do be fuckin a church doe, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They have sex in a church. Not sure what else to say.
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Series: Dinah/Helena One-Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670449
Comments: 15
Kudos: 169





	Hail Mary, Full of Grace

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated as always to the burps.

_I said, “I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.” May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine._

Helena had confessed for as long as she could remember. She had started when she was seven, when her feet couldn’t touch the floor and her hair was yanked into two tight braids, sitting in that wooden box and trying to think of something to say. Helena hadn’t had much to confess, she had never been badly-behaved, ever, but every week she had entered the confession booth and crawled onto the bench and said the same thing. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. These are my sins. I am guilty of having been resentful. I am sorry for this and all my sins. 

In Sicily, she had done the same thing. Church once a week, confession afterwards, and there was a lot more to confess to as she grew older. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. These are my sins. I am guilty of having harboured hatred in my heart. I am guilty of having been resentful. I am guilty of having lied. I am guilty of having been insincere. I am guilty of having envied the possessions of others. I am guilty of having wished evil upon another. I am sorry for these and all my sins. 

Twenty-five now, and she still confessed every week. Helena had attended the Church Of Our Lady Of Grace as a child, her parents and her grandparents had been married there, she and Pino had been baptized there, had her life gone according to plan she would have gotten married there. Since her life had not gone according to plan, Helena had gotten married in a courthouse and it had been the happiest day of her life. 

Every Sunday, normally at about noon, Helena parked her bike on the curb outside Our Lady, dressed in the least jock lesbian clothes she owned, and tried not to trip up the stone stairs leading up to the church. Helena didn’t own a lot of clothes that weren’t some variety of goth jock lesbian, according to Dinah and Harley and Cass and Renee, but she had a church outfit that consisted of a grey sweater tucked into nice-ish black pants. Her mother would have killed her for wearing pants to church, but Helena hadn’t worn a skirt willingly since the day her mother had died and she was not about to start now. Pants it was, with helmet hair and her steel-toed boots and Dinah’s hand in hers, walking up the stairs and silently willing herself not to trip. 

Dinah came with her sometimes. Not always, Dinah wasn’t religious and didn’t have a lot of interest in church, but she knew that it was important to Helena, so she came sometimes, sat in a pew while Helena confessed and looked like a fucking sin, draped over the hard wooden bench with a foot propped on the pew beside her, arms slung over the back and her long fingers playing over the wood. Bringing her wife to a place of God was probably not the best idea Helena had ever had, but Dinah deserved to be placed on the altar and fucking worshipped. 

She had three sins to confess these days, the same every week, and while you weren’t supposed to confess for the same sins every week, they were the only ones she was guilty of. So she entered the confession booth, which was weirdly sexy, all red velvet curtains and dark panelled wood and mostly soundproof, sat down on the bench, and bowed her head, breathing in the thick dusty air that always smelled the same, like old paper and communion wine. She could hear the priest, but everything else had grown dull, and Helena pulled her mother’s rosary out of her pocket and wound it around her hand. 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” The beads scraped her knuckles, worn where her mother had held them, and Helena leaned back against the back wall and sighed. What did God think of her now, now that she had taken lives and harboured resentment and married a woman? All sins were forgivable, but she was not sure that she deserved His forgiveness. 

“These are my sins. I am guilty of homosexual behaviour. I am guilty of being unchaste. I am guilty of harbouring hatred in my heart.” Helena said, twisting her wedding ring. Every time she confessed, she wondered if it would be the last time, if she’d find her forgiveness in this booth, and every time she confessed she knew she would be back next week. How could God forgive her for this? It was a sin, blasphemous, a crime against Him. “I am sorry for these and all my sins.” 

“These, as all sins, are forgivable, my child.” The priest said, voice muffled by the screen between them. He was lying, all priests were liars, and Helena twisted her rosary between her fingers and looked up when the door to the booth creaked open. Dinah was silhouetted by the soft candles, making her glow like the holiest of angels, and she slipped inside the confessional quietly and shut the door behind her. “What shall be your penance?” 

Helena inhaled sharply when Dinah sat down on her lap, forgetting the priest, the confessional, everything but the feeling of Dinah’s body against her own. Dinah smoothed Helena’s hair off her forehead, tucking most of it behind her ears, and tilted her head towards the very thin divider separating them from the priest. She mouthed something that Helena couldn’t make out in the thin slivers of yellow light seeping into the booth, and that light bounced off her dark eyes when she rolled them. Fuck. Right. The priest. 

“Whatever He deems would grant me forgiveness.” It was almost muscle memory for her now, the same words she had been saying since she was seven, but saying it where Dinah could hear, where Dinah was watching her lips carefully as she spoke, brought an entirely different feeling to the saying. Dinah kissed her as soon as she was done speaking, quietly, right on the mouth, and then pressed a finger to Helena’s lips. Shh. 

“Pray your rosary, my child, and then you will know His forgiveness, for He is merciful and His word is good.” If the priest knew Dinah was there, he said nothing, not even when Dinah slipped off Helena’s lap and knelt down on the floor. Oh, fucking fuck. She was not supposed to kneel in here, not like this, not between Helena’s legs with a priest inches away. When you knelt in church it was to worship at His feet, to listen to His proclamations and know that He loved His people above all. Not long fingers on her belt, the opal-and-gold wedding ring that had once belonged to Helena’s mother gleaming in one of the dusty shafts of light. 

Helena did the only thing she could think of to do, which was to unwind the rosary from her fingers and press her thumb into the first bead. She knew how to pray the rosary (Helena was Roman Catholic, she was fairly certain it was impossible to not know how to pray a rosary) and she stiffened when Dinah undid her belt, loop by loop, careful not to be too loud as she opened Helena’s pants. She paused, one hand on Helena’s hip and the other braced on her thigh, and tilted her head, urging Helena to pray. Oh, right. She should maybe do that. 

“Lo credo nel Dio,” Helena said, trying to keep her voice steady despite Dinah tracing a circle around her navel, her fingers shaking on the beads. She had slipped into Sicilian, which she always did when she was either turned on or very drunk, but the priest spoke Italian and it was close enough. Dinah drew an arrow pointing down on Helena’s stomach, as if she needed to remind herself where she was going, and pressed a gentle kiss to Helena’s belly button. “il Padre Onnipotente, Creatore del Cielo e della Terra; e in Gesù Cristo,-”

Helena bit down hard on the inside of her lip when Dinah hooked her fingers in the waist of her pants, her rings cool against Helena’s flushed skin, and she lifted her hips very quietly. The beads of her rosary were clacking against each other, but she kept going, forcing herself to not start whimpering. In front of a fucking priest. “Il suo unico Figlio, Nostro Signore, concepito dallo Spirito Santo, nato dalla Vergine Maria, sofferto sotto Ponzio Pilato, fu crocifisso; morì e fu sepolto.” 

“Discese all'inferno; il terzo giorno risuscitò dai morti; Salì in cielo, seduto alla destra di Dio, il Padre onnipotente; da lì verrà a giudicare i vivi e i morti. Credo nello Spirito Santo,” Helena nearly dropped her rosary when Dinah licked her over her briefs, the feeling of fabric rubbing her slick skin almost making Helena whine. She didn’t, because she was in a church, but she almost did, and that risk was so fucking hot that she squeezed her rosary and slung one leg over Dinah’s shoulder. A little counterproductive for not getting caught, but right on track for what Dinah was doing. 

“Nella santa Chiesa cattolica, nella comunione dei santi, nel perdono dei peccati, nella risurrezione del corpo e nella vita eterna. Amen.” Helena choked out, the words heavy on her tongue as Dinah used hers. Fucking hell, this was a church! A place of worship! Where she had just apologized for commiting homosexual acts! Committing homosexual acts in a church was like, a double sin. She might need to confess twice next week. If she ever showed her face in this church again. 

“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.” The priest said, he had to be deaf or stupid or both, and Helena bit back a curse. Fuck, what did she say next? Dinah’s mouth had made her forget every single one of the dumb lines that went with confession, and she had to wrack her brain for the next line. 

“For His mercy endures forever.” That was it, right? Helena’s knuckles were white against the simple beads of her rosary, her toes curled tight in her boots, and fuck, she was going to have to drive home in wet underwear. That was going to be uncomfortable. Dinah reached up and took Helena’s hand, the one not clutching the rosary, twining their fingers together, and she squeezed gently. 

“And I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father and the Holy Spirit.” The priest said, and Helena was absolutely not getting absolved of this sin. She dug her fingers into Dinah’s hand when Dinah tugged at her boxers, hips arching off the bench to let her pull them down. Fuck. How did Dinah get her so wet with a single kiss on the mouth and a few strokes through her boxers? It was ridiculous. “Stay here, my child, and finish your penance.”

Oh, thank the fucking lord. Literally. The priest got up, the door of his side creaking open, and Dinah leaned back on her heels to look up at Helena. She was grinning, all dimples and gold jewellery and bright eyes, and she tilted her head at Helena. 

“Finish your penance, kitten.” Dinah kissed the inside of Helena’s thigh, nipping at the skin, and she bit a little harder when Helena stayed silent. Oh, for the love of all that was good and holy in this world, Dinah was going to be the death of her. “Don’t be blasphemous.” 

Everything about this was fucking blasphemous, but Helena thumbed the next bead on her rosary as Dinah sucked a bruise into the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Next was a Hail Mary but Helena wasn’t sure she could make it through one. She might die or burst into flames first. Alright. Dinah licked the hollow of her hip, gently, her tongue moving in a smooth sweep, and Helena ground her hips upwards and swallowed hard. 

“Hail Mary, full of Grace.” Helena started, softly, shutting her eyes and clutching her rosary as tightly as she could. “The Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy wound Jesus. Holy-” 

Dinah traced Helena’s clit with the very tip of her tongue and Helena fumbled for Dinah’s hair, digging her free hand into the soft blonde locks and trying not to yank. Dinah laughed against Helena’s skin and a shudder ran up Helena’s spine, sharp and electric. “You aren’t done, baby. I don’t know much about religion, but Hail Mary is longer than that.” 

“Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour,” Helena’s breath caught when Dinah licked her once, her tongue was a fucking sin and she needed to confess again, over and over until God forgave her. “At the hour of our death. Amen.” 

“Good girl.” Dinah said, voice thick, and Helena made a very pathetic noise that should not be made in a church and dug her fingers into Dinah’s scalp. She did not need to be teased, not in a fucking confession booth where the door could open at any moment. Dinah lifted her head and smiled again, that half-smile that made Helena forget her own name, and she took Helena’s other hand in her own and brought her wrists together. “What do you say during confession, baby?” 

Helena nearly came on the spot when Dinah wound her rosary around her wrists, twice, securing them together in her lap, and smirked at her. Oh, holy shit. She couldn’t even tug at the rosary because it was delicate, at least fifty years old and if she even shifted her wrists the cord might snap, sending beads spilling across the floor. It was bad luck to break a rosary, and it was probably worse luck to have your pants down with a head between your legs in a confession booth, so Helena figured she wouldn’t take her chances with busting the rosary. 

“Kitten.” Dinah grazed Helena’s clit with her teeth, making her shudder, and she blew gently on the painfully sensitive skin. She was the most beautiful woman in the entire universe, God’s most perfect creation, and she was kneeling between Helena’s thighs like they were the altar and she was ready to pray. “What do you say during confession?” 

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” Helena dug her nails into her palms when Dinah licked her, squeezing her eyes shut. Would God forgive her for this? If He saw her, legs open in a place of worship, hands bound by prayer beads, another woman’s mouth against her? Would He keep her from Heaven, cast her into fire and brimstone? 

“Go on then, baby.” Dinah licked her again, harder, and Helena bit down on the inside of her cheek so she didn’t jerk against the rosary. She was not breaking her mother’s fucking rosary because Dinah was working magic with her tongue in the middle of a church. “Confess. Tell me your sins.” 

Jesus, Dinah’s existence was a fucking sin. Looking at Dinah was a sin, touching her was a sin, kissing her and holding her and being married to her was a sin, being married to her was a double sin, sleeping with her before marriage was a sin, sleeping with her at all was a sin, all of it. What sins did Dinah want her to confess? There was a long list. 

“I am guilty of impure thoughts.” Helena started, her fingers were digging into her palms so hard she might have drawn blood. She wanted to bury her hands in Dinah’s hair, touch her face and her head and her shoulders, but the rosary was tight against her wrists and she couldn’t quite reach without feeling the cord strain. “I am guilty of blasphemy.”

Dinah didn’t say anything, mostly because her mouth was otherwise occupied, but she tapped Helena’s thigh gently to get her to keep going. Oh, fuck, what other sins were there? “I am guilty of homosexual behaviour. I am guilty of being unchaste. I am guilty of—oh, fuck, Dinah!” 

“Shh, baby. You want the whole church to know you’re sinning in here?” Dinah pulled away, just enough to make Helena whine, and kissed the inside of her knee. “Unless you do want the church to hear you. Hmm? You want the priests to hear you spreading your legs for me? Want them to hear your pretty little moans?” Dinah bit down on the inside of Helena’s thigh, hard enough to make Helena gasp, and slid her tongue over the bright red mark she had left. “No? I didn’t think so. Any other confessions, kitten?” 

“I am guilty of harbouring hatred in my heart.” Helena said, though it was more of a shuddery gasp, Dinah’s tongue soft and magical against her skin. Dinah kept going, she was fucking worshipping Helena with her mouth, and Helena fought hard not to yank at the rosary. God, Dinah was a fucking angel, gold and brown and smooth skin and gentle touches and deliberate hands, and how could this be a sin when it felt so fucking good? “I am guilty of dressing immodestly. Forgive me for these and for all my sins.” 

Dinah flicked her tongue and Helena came undone with a breathy cry. It took Dinah very little to make Helena come, especially when she knew time was of the essence, and Helena pushed her hips against Dinah’s mouth and felt all of her muscles tense and then relax. Blasphemy yes, but fuck if it wasn’t hot, and Dinah wiped her face with the back of her hand and grinned up at her. Unfairly hot, really, kneeling between Helena’s legs, lips and chin gleaming in the dim light, that cocky smile on her face. 

“These, as all sins, are forgivable.” Dinah said slowly, and Helena had literally just come and the sound of those fucking holy words coming from a mouth that was honest-to-god dripping had her pressing her legs together again. Her hands were still tied together, very unpleasantly, and she made a soft whining noise at the back of her throat and lifted her wrists. “Nuh-uh, kitten. You still have penance to do.” 

What? Dinah stood up, dusted her knees off, and straddled Helena’s bare thigh smoothly. What penance? Helena’s hands were pinned between them, trapped between Dinah’s stomach and Helena’s hips, and Dinah leaned down and kissed her. God, Dinah’s mouth was better than communion wine and her skin against Helena’s was better than anything God could give her, nothing on earth or in heaven could compare to Dinah’s lips against her own. 

“Penance, baby.” Dinah said, nudging Helena’s nose with her own. She ground herself into Helena’s leg, through her pants, and looped her arms around Helena’s neck. “No touching. Just watch. That’s your penance.”

Wow. That was so much worse than a fucking Hail Mary or two. Dinah rolled her hips, tilting her head back to expose her neck, and she moved back a little further when Helena tried to press a kiss to the bare skin. She clicked her tongue, pressing further into Helena’s thigh, and the corner of her mouth curled into a smile. 

“I said watch, kitten.” Dinah tsked, Helena’s bound hands brushing her stomach. She whined, miserably, because she wanted to kiss Dinah’s neck and mouth and touch her and undo her pants and slide her hand into the soft lace underwear she knew Dinah was wearing beneath, feel how warm and wet she was, nudge two fingers into Dinah and fuck her exactly how she liked. But she couldn’t. “Just watch. You gotta do your penance.” 

Helena made a pathetic little noise and watched. She watched as Dinah ground into her, flexing her thigh to give Dinah more leverage. Dinah laughed, circling her hips again, and pulled at Helena’s short dark hair roughly. “Flexin’ on me, Bertinelli?” 

“Always, Lance.” Helena leaned up to kiss her, desperate, but Dinah clicked her tongue again and yanked Helena’s head back with one hand. She shook her head, smirking, and clenched her thighs tightly around Helena’s. Dinah was so beautiful that sometimes Helena stayed up at night and cried looking at her, wondering how in the name of everything that was good in this world she had managed to marry Dinah Lance. 

Dinah combed her fingers through Helena’s hair as she rode her thigh, careful not to catch any of her rings, and not touching her was worse penance than any priest could ever assign. Penance was a prayer, a good deed, not watching your wife make herself come against the hard muscle of your thigh with your hands bound by a rosary in a fucking confession booth. 

“Helena Bertinelli.” Dinah dug her nails into Helena’s scalp and pulled so they were eye to eye, her gaze dark and wide and lovely. It was dark enough in that booth that Helena couldn’t see the perfect details of her face, the freckle just beneath her left eyebrow or the crinkle in her nose, but she knew, and that was enough. “I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father and the Holy Spirit.”

She came, making that breathy noise she always made when she came, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and tightened her fingers in Helena’s hair. Helena was absolved of her sins. They were forgiven. She was forgiven. Dinah had forgiven her, she had done her penance, and she was freed. 

“I love you.” Helena whispered, reverential, tilting her face up to Dinah’s. A thin shaft of light cut across her face, illuminating that perfect smile, the glint of gold in her nose, the dimple in her cheek, and Helena could have spent the rest of her life just looking at her. Angels might live in Heaven but there was one in her lap right now, grinning back at her.

“I love you more.” Dinah kissed the tip of her nose, then gestured down at the rosary wrapped around Helena’s wrists. “Want that off, or do you want to drive home like that?” 

“Gee, I don’t know. Harley always said I could drive a motorcycle with my hands tied behind my back.” 

“Harley also said that she had better aim than you, kitten. Maybe we don’t trust her opinion.” 

Helena laughed, lifting her wrists. “Come on. Let’s go home so I can fuck you properly.”

**Author's Note:**

> for emmer specifically, my goth wife queen.


End file.
